


Don't Gotta Go Home

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Companionable Snark, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grillby's, M/M, Minor Grillby/Sans, Poor Sans, Pre-Slash, Protective Grillby, Sans Has Issues, Sans Needs A Hug, Underfell Grillby, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "How about Underfell Sansby? Maybe Sans hiding out at the bar instead of going home because he wants to avoid Papyrus."</p><p>The Underground is a tumultuous and dangerous place. You have to take your peace where you can find it. Peace is something that Grillby is happy to provide, for a price. But for Sans, that price is negotiable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Gotta Go Home

_“Oi, Ketchup! We’re closing soon!”_

“cool,” said Sans, from his seat at the bar. “good for you.”

Grillby pressed his mouth into a thin, tight line. He felt himself blazing a little higher with indignation. Some people just couldn’t take a hint.  

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten stuck with someone so dense at the end of the night, though usually they were drunker. As usual in these situations, Grillby tried to be louder about making his point. He clattered the chairs as loudly as he could when he stacked them up on the tables, and then the stools when he placed them on the bar. He made a very deliberate point of mopping around Sans’ seat. Still, the skeleton did not move.

Finally, when there was nothing left to clean, Grillby decided that subtlety could take a running leap. _“Hey,”_ he growled, leaning across the bar to glower at the holdout. _“Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re closing soon.”_

“sure i heard you,” Sans said. He finally lifted his head from his empty plate, where he’d apparently been spending the last twenty minutes industriously shredding his straw wrapper into smaller and smaller pieces. “you’re closing _soon_ , right? _soon_ as in _not now_?”

Grillby just barely bit back the urge to growl in frustration - after spending all day cleaning up after a bunch of mutts, sometimes he caught them rubbing off on him at the worst possible moments. But neither would he be played on a technicality in his own restaurant. Sans opened his mouth to protest when Grillby reached out to snatch his plate away. One glare from Grillby, and he closed it again.

 _“Order something else,”_ the elemental ordered, leaning across the bar to put himself eye-to-eyesocket with the holdout. _“Or ‘soon’ is gonna come a lot sooner for you, if I have to get you out of here by dumping you down the garbage disposal.”_

Sans drew back a little in apparent alarm. Then it was Grillby’s turn to be surprised, as the skeleton actually grinned at him. “why wait?” he asked, spreading his arms and shrugging expansively. “the way this town talks, i might as well hang my hat down there. i’ve already been feeling kind of _down in the dumps_ , lately.”  

_“Tch. You keep up like that, I’m going to throw in a self-pity tax to your tab.”_

“ah, c’mon. i can be _way_ more self-pitying than this. with my tab, doubt i’ll even notice.”

 _“Heh.”_ He allowed himself to smile, at that. After a long day of rushing here and there, feeding the hungry maws of the largely humorless lot that oversaw this place, even a token attempt at humor could count for something. Sans sat up a little straighter, looking a little pleased, and Grillby caught himself wondering just how humorless this town really was if a smile got that sort of reaction out of him. That was an uncomfortable thought, and so he changed the subject to much more comfortable matters.

_“About your extra order, Ketchup…”_

“gimme some fries.”  

Sans was still being difficult and keeping Grillby from closing up, so Grillby took care to get him the smallest and most blackened bits of the last of the fries from out of the bottom of the fryer. Sans examined a piece critically as the plate was set in front of him - even Grillby couldn’t entirely be certain that he hadn’t grabbed a piece of charcoal by mistake. But he grinned at the elemental, held up the fry in a mock-toast, and then popped it into his mouth. “cheers, grillby.”  

By that point, it really was past closing time. Grillby would have been well within his rights to kick Sans out. But Sans was also far from the most objectionable customer he dealt with on a daily basis, and so was the least painful to wring a few extra g’s out of. He could stay open just a bit longer, for that.  

Instead, Grillby settled down to give the glasses another wipe down. It was peaceful, meditative work, and it had been a long day. All days were long, down here. You had to take your peace where you could find it.  

Which meant that he wasn’t too terribly interested in having that peace disturbed, and a possibility of that happening occurred to him. _“Your brother doesn’t need you for anything?”_ he asked. The last thing he needed was the captain of the Snowdin Royal Guard coming in here and breaking things because Sans was slacking off. 

“he never has before, don’t know why he’d start now.” Judging by the crunching noise one of his teeth made, Grillby thought he might have accidentally tossed in a piece or two of charcoal in with the fries. Whoops. 

_“So why are you hiding out here like you’re ducking something?”_

Sans froze mid-munch, looking momentarily shocked. Grillby felt mildly offended that the skeleton had so little faith in his ability to pick up the obvious. Something like everyone in Snowdin passed through here at least once a week, and something like everyone in Snowdin had overheard Papyrus haranguing his brother at some point or another. 

“’cause i am,” Sans finally mumbled, looking away. He folded his arms on the countertop and rested his skull on them, the fries apparently forgotten for the moment. “it’s just, y’know. a ‘who’ and not a ‘what’. it’s not like papyrus _likes_ not being able to trust me with anything, y’know? actually, uh, i think the complaint of the day is that i’m ‘a waste of calcium who might as well get to work fertilizing the echo flowers’.”

_“Mm. I don’t think calcium would actually suffice for that.”_

Sans narrowed his eyesockets at Grillby. “well, i wasn’t about to hang around and ask him to clarify, was i? figured it might be best to come to hide out _clover_ here, instead.”

Grilby groaned, even facepalmed, and Sans grinned. _“That was awful. Even for you. I should throw you out just for that.”_

“yeah, but you’re not gonna.” Sans popped another fry into his mouth. “because that, grillby, would be _rude_.” 

And for all that Grillby put up a tough front, for all that he might protest otherwise, they both knew that he cared about that. Sometimes, Grillby wondered resignedly if he was the only one in Snowdin or perhaps the entire Underground who did. He might give everyone a hard time, but only as much as they gave him - that was what made interacting with Sans a unique frustration as well as a unique pleasure. And as long as the monsters here didn’t make themselves an unholy nuisance while in the restaurant, they were his guests and he was the host. That was the deal, that was what the exchanging of money was meant to represent.

There were monsters here who didn’t even believe that they should _have_ money, but Grillby did. To him, the sheer act of commerce and exchange was one of the only possible bastions of order in this nightmare of a mountain. The fact that at least most of them could still manage that much, however grudgingly, was one of the last points separating them from the beasts that humans believed them to be. He had to believe that he was capable of being more than a bartender to a bunch of thugs. Otherwise, he never would be.

At least Sans seemed to understand. Even if he was a pain in the ass otherwise, that counted for something. He could let it count for at least another fifteen minutes.


End file.
